String Theory
by Alex Foster
Summary: Willow kept it shoved in the back of a dresser drawer, buried underneath a pile of clothes. She thought it was her own secret to keep, but Kennedy knew about it. WK WT


Title: String Theory

Author: Alex Foster

Feedback: I love to hear what you think so drop me a line or leave a review.

Category: General

Rating: PG

Setting: After season seven but before Joss' new season eight

Summary: Willow kept it shoved in the back of a dresser drawer, buried underneath a pile of clothes. She thought it was her own secret to keep, but Kennedy knew about it. W/K W/T

Disclaimer: Joss is god. I simply worship at his altar.

Author's Notes: While I'm not exactly president of Kennedy's fan club, it was after hearing a friend bash her that I decided to write a little something focusing on her that was at the very least fair to her. Thanks for reading...

* * *

_To live in someone's shadow is a very cold place indeed; after a time you cease to see yourself and see only the one casting the shadow. _

Unknown

* * *

Willow kept it shoved in the back of a dresser drawer, buried underneath a pile of clothes. She thought it was her own secret to keep, but Kennedy knew about it. Came across it one day while looking for a sweater.

In a weird sense, she had enjoyed finding it. Not much had survived Sunnydale and the part of her that felt elated when Willow smiled was happy that she still had that little bit of home. There was a part of her that found guilty pleasure in seeing it, in studying every curve and angle and committing them to memory. And finally, in a dark place inside that Willow would never know about she hated ever learning about that photograph.

About the picture of Tara McClay Willow kept.

Kennedy had stared at the faded picture, its edges curled and frayed from exposure to water sometime in its life, and tried to decipher what if anything she shared with the mysterious girl that had been so important to the people in Kennedy's life, but that no one would ever talk about anymore.

"She was...earthy," Xander had said once, and left it at that.

Well, what the hell did that mean? Aside from loving Willow she also liked health food stores? That hadn't answered any of Kennedy's questions. Of course, it would help if she even knew exactly what those questions were to properly ask them.

Kennedy had dated girls in the past that had been, or still were, in love with someone else. She had never given it much thought; they were with her now so there. Tara was somehow different. Maybe it was sainthood brought about by death, or maybe it was because Kennedy had never loved any of those other girls. Tara had shaped Willow in a very important time in her life.

Kennedy was at once envious and saddened by that fact.

All of these things she kept hidden from Willow -- if Xander found it hard to talk about Tara, Willow would find it near impossible. Aside from a few stories after a bottle or two of wine, Tara was a subject kept behind lock and key and a couple of guard dogs for good measure. Which under normal circumstances was just fine with Kennedy; next to Faith she prided herself on a lack of introspection. She was simply what she was.

Tonight, however, she couldn't help but think about the blonde girl that used to routinely do what Kennedy was now attempting.

Times like these, she wished Tara had left behind a book or instruction sheet. Loving Willow Rosenberg, A How-To-Guide.

Unable to sit Indian style any longer, Kennedy pushed to her feet and began pacing to work out the cramps in her legs. Restless, she began scanning the room for something to look at other than Willow.

Willow's den, her own space converted from one of their spare bedrooms, was not a place Kennedy spent much time. Around her burned candles and incense filling the air with a heavy closed in feel. Wall hangings and several tribal masks Xander had sent them from Africa decorated the room. Spell books and several other volumes Giles had saved from Sunnydale lined a bookshelf in the rear of the den. The bare hardwood floor had several circles etched into it for casting and invoking. Willow kept this space solely for her magicks.

For all the things Willow and Kennedy shared (and the numerous things they didn't), magick was the one thing Kennedy had trouble following or understanding. Compromising on Italian food was one thing, transdimensional configurations was something else entirely in her book.

Once, not long after Sunnydale, when Buffy was still putting together her slayer school, Willow had attempted to teach Kennedy some spells. After all, what could be better than a slayer that had magick at her disposal? Something as simple as floating a pencil, however, demanded patience and emotional control the young slayer simply did not possess.

Most days, most crises, Willow seemed to enjoy working alone. When things were really bad, Giles would always be there to aid in a spell. Once a couple of members of that creepy coven in Devon had visited. They and Willow had talked and laughed about things that mostly went over Kennedy's head. Then they made some funky lights appear in this room and gone home.

On rare occasion, like tonight, Willow needed a partner and Giles or the witches of Devon weren't around to help. The first time she had explained what she needed, Kennedy had thought the idea wonderfully easy. Especially for a slayer. Protection, Willow had said, was what a working partner often provided. Someone to be there for her physically when the magicks drew her mind elsewhere. And to help ground her when she returned.

Kennedy had initially been all for it. The first time she even brought a stake to the circle -- it was then that Willow explained there were many ways for working partners to protect their charges. Wooden stakes were rarely needed.

Emotional support and protection. That certainly wasn't in the slayer handbook -- even the new one.

Kennedy sighed and chanced a glance back at Willow still sitting cross-legged in the center of the room. Her eyes were open but there was no sign she was actually seeing anything in this particular dimension. Her hair and robes swirled and billowed in a wind that didn't touch the lit candles set in a circle around her. (No matter how many times Kennedy saw the wind-no-wind thing, it always freaked her.) Flashes of color, almost movement like the kind one saw from the corner of an eye, rolled and rippled around her.

The slayer reached to her waist out of habit for a weapon that wasn't there. It was too long. Willow had been gone for too long. She began pacing again, her gaze again searching the room. Willow had neglected to put a clock in the den, but Kennedy was sure it had been over an hour.

What exactly was the procedure here? Call Giles and ask him to teleport over because Willow's mind never came back from another time and space? Kennedy was a slayer, trained to deal with very real things in very sharp solid real ways. How the hell did one fight fairy tale crap?

Some kite string she was turning out to be. Back when she promised to be just that, it hadn't been just a way to get into Willow's pants; Kennedy had honestly meant it. She just hadn't known -- still didn't -- how to be that string.

She wasn't a witch; would never be one.

But Tara was.

That was why it was mainly during these rare times when Kennedy was in the room with the funky smells and lights that she broke her no introspection rule and thought about that blonde girl whose worn photo was still hidden upstairs.

The one rule Kennedy had learned about magick was something she was certain Tara had known as well from working with Willow: the one with the weaker amount of power, the one that had to stay behind and be the protector, had the infinitely harder job.

It was in these times that Kennedy wished she could talk to Tara about how she dealt with it. How many nights had she sat watch over Willow while the redhead worked some mysterious mojo? It was an exclusive club Kennedy was now president of -- one she wouldn't trade membership in for anything -- but it was at the same time a lonely and scary one.

Out of other places to look, her gaze returned to Willow. Yes, she decided, hers was the harder job. But, if Tara could do it so could she. After all who better for a lonely and scary job than a slayer?

Hesitating for a moment, Kennedy stepped in close to Willow and dropped to one knee. "Willow?" Her voice sounded strangely loud in the sparse room.

Aside from the ripples of almost movement swirling around them, Willow didn't flinch.

"Willow, come back." Anger edged her concern. Tara's shadow was long enough, and Kennedy would not let a ghost out shine her. "Willo--"

The almost movement suddenly stilled and there was a whoosh of air followed by something akin to a lock being clicked. Willow's eyes snapped open and she swayed side to side.

Kennedy gripped her shoulders and steadied her. "Will?"

Willow smiled sleepily. "See," she said, "I told you I wouldn't be gone long."

Kennedy pulled her into a tight hug. "I know. Even if you had, I would have found a way to bring you back.

"It's what we do..."

**End**


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